


our tender collapse into a sea of embers

by Paclipas



Series: Season 14 Episode Tags [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel is Not Innocent (Supernatural), Castiel is So Done (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dorks in Love, Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paclipas/pseuds/Paclipas
Summary: "Some days there is a glimmer of mutual understanding over the deep connection they share, embers that remind of what could have once become an inferno. Most days, however, it’s like this with them standing what feels like a world apart, cold boundaries keeping them at a distance even when they both long to cross it."Episode tag to 14x12 “Prophet and Loss”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Season 14 Episode Tags [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126631
Kudos: 61





	our tender collapse into a sea of embers

**Author's Note:**

> Why am I writing episode tags to season 14 in 2021? 
> 
> Great question.
> 
> I'm on my chaotic post-finale re-watch of the show and 14x12 just had me going insane with this idea of Cas in his Dr Sexy-esque lab coat dragging Dean into a broom closet and having his way with him until the idiot realizes his worth. Instead of straight up porn some plot happened. There's not even a broom closet. Fml. 
> 
> Hope someone needed this as much as I did.
> 
> (Rated Mature because I kept it vague but let me know if the rating should be explicit.)

_D_ _octor_.

There is a clear strain in Dean’s voice at their unexpected reunion, though his eyes are instantly and perhaps helplessly drawn to Castiel’s. Even with his heart weighed down by anxiety, Castiel allows himself to briefly revel in the flicker of something dark and forbidden sparking in those painfully familiar green eyes as Dean’s gaze drops down to where Castiel is draped in white instead of tan fabric for once. The lab coat has been a superb choice, if this reaction is anything to go by. Selfishly, he is glad that Donatello’s predicament has given him an excuse to come to the care facility. It’s easier to face Dean on neutral grounds, safer. _Dr. Novak_ cannot explode at _The Other Mr Winchester_ like the angel Castiel could at Dean in the sanctuary of the Men of Letters bunker.

Though at Dean’s infuriating words he certainly comes close, their cover be damned.

_I_ _know the feeling._

_W_ _hy don’t we_ _talk_ _about th_ _at_ _later._

_If you_ _are_ _a friend of mine-_

- _you won’t try to stop me._

_You think this is easy on me?_

_It_ _has to be done._

The words are meant to placate him, adding insult to injury, and Castiel wants none of it. ‘ _Later’_ is not a luxury they have, that much is clear from the anguish on Dean’s face. As far as goodbyes go, this one would have been about as agonizing as they come. Worse than the uncharacteristically gentle embrace and fruitless ‘ _I could go with you_ ’ in that cemetery years ago. There is nothing gentle in this moment now, just harsh words contradicted by poorly cloaked longing in both their eyes. For a moment, Castiel wonders when things have become so icy between them after they had been on the precipice to something else, something warm, for so many years.

The answer is disturbingly simple. They’ve lost each other one too many times already. Maybe after Amara there had still been the ghost of a chance for them because Dean didn’t die, not really. But Castiel _did_. Stabbed out of existence by the devil himself while Dean had been forced to watch. And really, if the roles had been reversed there is no saying what Castiel would have done. In the years since his return, things have changed. Some days there is a glimmer of mutual understanding over the deep connection they share, embers that remind of what could have once become an inferno. Most days, however, it’s like this with them standing what feels like a world apart, cold boundaries keeping them at a distance even when they both long to cross it. And they almost do, Castiel realizes too late. He almost has his chance to grab a hold of Dean’s wrist, his hand even if he dared to be so bold, and drag him into the supply closet he’s passed somewhere down the hall to hide him away from the world and his stupid suicidal plan. He could show him that they can still fan the fire and keep it alive and from the way Dean looks at him, he’d go willingly.

The moment is lost when Sam breaks the spell, calling them back to the matter at hand.

*** * ***

_Let’s go home._

Castiel hears the words from all the way across the parking lot. They’re whispered at Sam but it feels like Dean might as well have been screaming them at the top of his lungs because they are powerful enough to tear some of the crippling weight off his shoulders.

_I do believe in us._

_I believe in all of us._

If the previous statement took weight off, then these ones, directed at Castiel as much as Sam, make him float. He hasn’t flown in years, painfully tethered to the ground with only his battered wings to speak of, but Dean Winchester finding it within himself to fight even one more day allows Castiel to soar as high as in his glory days. Far from ready to return to firm ground, he pointedly refrains from promising he will ever put Dean in that cursed box, not unless he’s willing to make room for one more. Resistance is futile and somewhere deep down Dean must know as much because he doesn’t push him for an answer like he does Sam.

They are already more than halfway to the bunker when Castiel realizes he climbed into the Impala, relief and muscle memory beating common sense. It draws a laugh from him, the unexpected sound cutting harshly through the melancholy that has settled over the rumble of the car’s engine.

“What’s so funny?”

Dean’s eyes meet his only by proxy, a dark reflection in the rearview mirror.

“I drove my truck to Donatello.”

A soft sound escapes Dean that could with some imagination qualify as a chuckle. “Want me to turn around?”

“No.” He shakes his head a bit too vehemently to be casual, the thought of having to leave the others to drive the distance by himself oddly unbearable. “We’re almost home.”

“We can pick it up tomorrow.”

The words feel significant because now there suddenly is a tomorrow again.

*** * ***

Back at the bunker all three of them scatter in different directions. Castiel takes the crate of books Dean used for his misguided research while the man in question remains in the garage to deal with the Ma’lak box. Sam retreats to his room, the past few days of mostly mental exhaustion finally catching up with him. For now, Castiel lets him go. There will be other times to talk about how they will proceed with the situation at hand. For now they have bought themselves some more time. The tables in the common areas are still littered with Castiel’s notes, open books covering any surface that would hold them just like he left them earlier that day. He drops what he’s carrying with a _thump_ , intent on using the rest of the night to read through the material thoroughly.

Standing among the scriptures, Castiel is reminded of the despair he’s been feeling while he was stuck here by himself doing his research. He is grateful Sam told him as soon as he found out what Dean had been planning, even if it was more out of the need for an ally than to keep him in the loop. In the grand scheme of things, Castiel remains a second class citizen when it comes to his right to information. Mostly shut out until one of the brothers is in need of a conspirator. Guilt settles in the pit of his stomach at the mere thought because he knows how unfair it is. He’d never put Dean in a position to choose him over his brother, or the other way around for that matter.

In an attempt to distract himself, he shrugs out of his coat and suit jacket. It does little to ease his physical discomfort but the mundane human gesture of ‘getting comfortable’ puts his mind somewhat at ease. After settling the items of clothing over the back of his designated reading chair, he also decides to loosen his tie for good measure, tugging at the stubborn knot until it gives in under his fingers.

“What’s with the strip tease?”

Castiel startles less from the words themselves and more from their tone. Tired but laced with something that usually remains hidden. He doesn’t reward Dean with an explanation, just sends him a _look_ and drops down in his chair. Dean invites himself to join him, balancing two glasses in one hand before he carelessly sets them on top of some of Castiel’s Enochian scribbles. They are filled with what could either be scotch or bourbon, not that it matters. The molecules will taste all the same to Castiel once he takes the first sip. In his other hand Dean has brought a bag of frozen peas. He has never seen either of the brothers actually _eat_ the peas they buy. They are almost exclusively used as makeshift ice-packs like right now, with Dean gingerly pressing the bag to the side of his face. Castiel knows better than to interrupt the hunter’s self-loathing with an offer to heal him.

The silence in place of said offer seems to be appreciated when Dean takes one of the glasses and raises it in a halfhearted toast, prompting Castiel to do the same. Castiel remains perfectly still but allows their eyes to lock. Whatever emotion has cloaked his earlier words in a veil of something they usually bury, never to be spoken of, it is reflected in his eyes now. A faint beacon in a sea of green. Castiel cannot bring himself to look away even when Dean touches the glass to his lips. He only takes a hesitant sip before changing his mind and draining the entire content in one gulp. When he chases a stray drop of liquor with his tongue, Castiel is transfixed by it, frozen in his seat.

He could leave it at that, tear his eyes away from the dangerous temptation and start reading. He _should_. But on this night something compels him to instead slowly reach to undo the buttons of his shirt sleeves. First one, then the other, not breaking eye contact until Dean does. His eyes follow the path of skin as it is revealed from underneath white fabric, wrist to elbow. It’s impossibly chaste, yet Castiel can feel the tension building. When Dean’s eyes snap back up there’s that same look in them like at the care facility. A look of both hunger and restraint that Castiel only knows too well. They’re back at the proverbial precipice, after all these years, still daring each other to take the plunge.

“Dean,” he finds himself saying, his voice unrecognizable even to his own ears with how soft it sounds, how tender.

Predictably, acknowledging the moment is enough to spook Dean. “Gonna check on the box ‘n go to bed,” he murmurs hurriedly, almost in a panic as he gets up. He drains the second glass as well and tosses the peas on the table before fleeing the scene.

Suddenly alone again, Castiel discovers that the puddle that forms underneath the slowly melting bag is oddly metaphorical to their situation, with he embers between them still hard at work at melting the ice they have allowed to settle.

It’s not the first time Dean has reacted like this to Castiel’s courage.

But he decides it will be the last.

*** * ***

He finds Dean as he’s locking up the dungeon, the box presumably on the other side of the armored door. With the space cut down to just the filing room, Castiel shuts and locks the door to the hallway behind himself. It’s not exactly a storage room like in his fantasy at the care facility but it comes close enough. When Dean turns around he doesn’t give him a chance to react, instantly crowding him against the cold metal.

“You said we would talk later,” he explains, the words hushed but firm. “It's later now. And I'd like to talk.”

“Thought we already cleared everything up. We’ll keep looking but if Michael manages a prison break, you and Sam know what to do.” It feels rehearsed, like Dean has been telling himself these exact words over and over again.

“It’s not that simple.”

“’Course it is.” Dean says it with an air of finality as he tries to push past but Castiel won’t allow it.

Lightning fast his arm comes up across Dean’s chest, pinning him against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. After a moment Dean finds his composure and swaps his shock for anger. “The hell are you doing, Cas? Sam already punched me, you want a go at it too? ‘Cause if you do, just get it over with already. I ain’t got all night.”

“I am not going to punch you, Dean,” Castiel assures the hunter. Underneath Dean’s act of fury, his body betrays him. He can feel the racing heartbeat against the still exposed skin of his arm where it is keeping Dean in place, can see the way Dean’s pupils are blown out, can almost _taste_ the exhilaration Dean is so desperately trying to hide.

“You sure look like you’re gonna do _something_.” In their current position, Dean still has a good few inches on him in height and he uses them to send a cocky look downwards, daring him to reveal his bluff.

Even so, Dean’s bravado is false and Castiel is not bluffing.

Time stands still as he leans in close, enough so to feel Dean’s ragged exhales against his face. Dean’s eyes are instantly drawn to his mouth, though he’s clearly still fighting his own body for control. It takes every bit of restraint Castiel has not to give in and crush their lips together in a desperate collision. Instead he is hovering right there, barely a breath away, but this is as far as he’s willing to go. If Dean wants this too, he’ll have to take it.

Unfortunately, Dean Winchester is as stubborn as he is beautiful, and he painfully stands his ground.

When Castiel retreats half an inch in a necessary step to keep his own sanity he sees relief flickering in Dean’s eyes. His first instinct is to take it personally because maybe he misread the situation and they are nowhere near a place where what he’s doing is appropriate or even wanted. Then the more rational part of his barely functioning brain reminds him of the moment at the care facility and the more recent one in the library and he realizes Dean’s reaction has nothing to do with lack of wanting him. It’s fear, plain and simple. A kiss might be too tender a gesture to break through it, much like his soft spoken words at the library had chased him away instead of drawn him in.

The remedy, he decides, is to speak in a language he knows Dean understands well and that doesn’t have to be soft while still throwing them head first into uncharted territory. His arm remains firmly on Dean’s chest while his other hand comes up to rest on Dean’s hip. He keeps it there for a moment just to gauge Dean’s reaction. When all it does is draw a token struggle from him, he allows his fingers to trace along the leather of Dean’s belt. The material is cracked and worn but it feels soft under Castiel’s touch. Once he reaches the buckle, it draws a gasp from Dean. Their eyes meet as Castiel silently asks for permission. The almost imperceptible nod is all he needs. With a skillful twist, Castiel unbuckles the belt, allowing it to fall open carelessly.

“What are you doing,” Dean rasps once Castiel also starts to circle the button of his jeans, now triumphantly aware of the unmistakable strain beneath the denim.

“I was misguided in trying more caring advances,” Castiel offers truthfully, no longer trying to hide his intentions. “You're not looking to collapse and crumble. Instead, you resist and you put up reinforcements against me when I become too- _fond_.” The word feels wrong, like a poor stand-in for something else. “So screw that. If we are operating on borrowed time, I’ll make my goodbye worthwhile _now_ before you get another chance at robbing me of it.”

  
Dean swallows hard, his eyes defiant. “Don't make this about you, Cas.”  
  
“How can I not when someone I _love_ is about to throw their whole life away.” Castiel flicks open the button but takes his time with the zipper, dragging it down agonizingly slowly and taking no care in avoiding the bulge that springs free.  
  
When Dean speaks again his voice is barely above a whisper. “You don't know what you're saying.”  
  
“I know more than you think. I know you're running from Michael. Not because you're a coward but because if you run he'll follow, thus keeping him away from the people you care about. The people you love.” Castiel draws courage from Dean’s labored breaths and sneaks a hand under the now exposed waistband of his boxer shorts, feeling the twitch of the hunter’s abdominal muscles beneath his heated skin. “So yes, I'll say this is plenty about me already, and don't you give me any crap about how this is the only way.”

“Cas, I chose this, _p_ _lease_.” It’s more a whimper than a sentence, the plea especially, and it’s accompanied by a restless twitch of Dean’s hips in search for whatever Castiel is teasing to offer.  
  
“No. You say if I'm your friend I'll help you die? Well, guess what, Dean. If that's a condition on your friendship, I want none of it.”  
  
“So what, you're breaking up with me?” Somewhere Dean finds the strength to still raise a bratty eyebrow at him, his lesson far from learned.  
  
“Quite the opposite. You’re trying to avoid the spark, but I will gladly guide you into the flames nonetheless. If this is the only chance we get so be it, but I _will_ let us have this.”  
  
“Cas, what-”

_What‘s going on?_

_What do you mean?_

_What are we doing?_

  
  
“Shut up.”

Dean is firm and hot in fist when he finally wraps his fingers around him. The angle is slightly awkward with his pants still on, but Castiel makes it work, dragging his hand along the length in slow deliberate strokes. His own breath stutters to a halt whenever the ministrations draw a sound from Dean’s lips. Which sound doesn’t matter, they are all equally disarming. They start out as little surface gasps but gradually deepen into a symphony of breathless moans. Castiel is the conductor, every twist of his wrist and each swipe of his thumb controlling the melody of Dean’s pleasure.

It doesn’t take long until Dean’s knees buckle and his hands come up from where they have been hanging at his sides to hold onto Castiel for dear life. His waist, his shoulders, anywhere that provides some leverage. The arm across Dean’s chest is no longer trapping him against the wall but securing him, holding up as much of his weight as Castiel can manage while keeping his focus elsewhere.  
  
“For Sam it may be like you're dead once you're in that unholy contraption at the bottom of the ocean.” He is shamelessly taking advantage of how pliable Dean is under his touch, completely at his mercy with every stroke of his hand as it speeds up. “But me? I'll still hear your prayers, Dean.”

He gradually becomes frustrated with the limited space he is working with and soon lets go of Dean in favor of pushing his pants down, not taking them off completely but pushing them low enough on his hips to gain easier access to what is important. Dean curses, though it’s unclear if it’s from the sudden cold air on his sensitive skin or from the lack of contact. Either way, Castiel doesn’t leave him to suffer for long, soon returning to his previous task with renewed fervor.

“Michael will keep you alive and you will suffer, for years. _Centuries_. And if you call out to me, I'll hear it. All your pain, all your fear, all your pleas to get you out of there. Do you have _any_ idea what that will do to me? To be helpless, knowing how much you're hurting?” His words are underlined by vicious strokes that draw a litany of colorful curses from Dean until the words become a jumbled mess.

“Ah, fuck, Cas. ‘M sorry.”

“What for?” Dean doesn’t answer him and just throws his head back against the wall, his face scrunched up in pleasure. It gives Castiel an irresistible view of Dean’s throat and where he was able to resist before he is now helpless. Dean’s pulse races under his lips and Castiel is instantaneously addicted to the taste of the hunter’s skin. He almost gets lost in the sensation, his hand slowing between Dean’s legs until persistent complaints reach his ears through the lust-fueled haze surrounding him. “What are you sorry for, Dean?” he repeats, this time growling the words directly into Dean’s ear.

“Didn’t know,” Dean responds weakly while his body responds beautifully to Castiel’s voice, coating his hand in increasing slickness on every upstroke. “Didn’t _think_.”

“That’s right. You didn’t think, because you didn’t bother talking to me.” Castiel is done teasing, now exclusively focused on pursuing Dean’s release. His hand flies over Dean with relentless speed. “You only come to me when you need something, when you should be coming when you want something. Is there something you _want_ , Dean?”

“Yes. Please.” Dean gasps, his brain reduced to scattered words as his climax creeps closer. “You.”

“Me?” Castiel tightens his fist at the very base of Dean’s length, stopping his strokes. “You were going to leave me behind.”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath before breaking into a desperate ramble. “’cause I’m a dumb son of a bitch, Cas. ‘M not gonna leave you. Could never fucking leave you.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Castiel says smugly, taking up his strokes one final time, knowing his hunter won’t last long under his touch. Predictably, it barely takes a few deliberate drags of his hand on Dean’s satiny skin until his entire body stiffens against Castiel’s, every muscle tightening in anticipation.

_So what, I’m Thelma and you’re Louise_

_and we’re just gonna hold hands_

_and sail_

_off_

_this_

_cliff_

_together?_

Unexpectedly, Dean grabs a fistful of his hair and drags him into a messy kiss while he spills his release all over his fingers in frantic spurts of white. It’s uncoordinated, chaotic even, but it’s also fantastically perfect.

Dean does collapse at long last, and Castiel is there to catch him.

The hand that’s still curled into the hair at the nape of his neck takes up gentle strokes while Dean recovers and just lets himself be held. After some time the hunter untangles himself from the embrace and looks down with an exasperated huff before tugging himself back into his jeans. Castiel takes the opportunity to clean himself up with a surge of his grace. It could be seen as a shameful action at first, and Castiel does feel a hint of panic threatening at the very corner of his mind, but when Dean looks up at him again there’s a nothing but a hint of humor and a lot of affection in his eyes.

“You're a manipulative bastard.”  
  
“Takes one to know one, Dean Winchester.”

The edge in their words is smoothed over when Dean pulls him in for another kiss, this one much more gentle and deliberate but still over too soon. Castiel can feel the beginning of a smile against his lips even with his eyes closed and when he opens them again, chasing after Dean’s mouth once it leaves him, he can see it becoming a full-blown smirk. Dean doesn’t stop touching him, instead threads their their hands together.

“Come on,” Dean beckons, tugging lightly when Castiel doesn’t move with him right away. “Now that we’ve established I’m not going anywhere I gotta repay the favor.” His eyes shamelessly drag over Castiel’s body, pointedly lingering on the neglected bulge that’s still tenting Castiel’s own pants.

“This was not a favor.”

It earns him an impatient eye-roll. “Figure of speech, Cas.” When he still remains rooted to the spot, Dean squirms and sighs but finally allows his expression to melt again, the humor morphing into something more sincere. “Hey, I want this. _You_. Damn it, you idiot, _I want you_ , so will you please come to bed with me so I can get you naked?”

“And they say romance is dead.”

The hunter grimaces at the response. “You know what, fuck you.”

“Is that a request?”

Only now does Dean seem to realize that Castiel is toying with him. Payback for making him work so hard for the both of them.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

Instead of a verbal reply Castiel steps into Dean’s space, stopping right before his face in a mirror action to earlier, prompting him to close the gap. This time Dean does it without indecision, kissing him thoroughly and without reservation.

*** * ***

Tomorrow they’ll pick up Castiel’s truck.

They’ll talk to Sam.

They’ll find a way to banish Michael.

But for tonight, they can bask in the burning embers that are once more ready to burst into flames.

*** * ***


End file.
